


One Night a Year

by Minerva394



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28857801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minerva394/pseuds/Minerva394
Summary: While out sailing on Winter Solstice Emma McFarlane encounters an island that should not be there. Something compells her to rescue the prisoner there, Antonin Dolohov. Sheep farming, Swing dancing and the rescue of Severus Snape ensues.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

December 21st, 1997, North Sea South of Scarborough

Emma McFarlane cursed herself after half an hour on sea. The temperture was unforgiving and the wind and spray relentless. Although she was an accomplished sailor the sea today was nearly too much of a challenge. That morning she had woken up and had felt an unexplainable need to go sailing. Her first impulse had been to squash that idea, particularly when looking out of the window. During the last few days Emma had worked hard to finish everything before the holidays. The shed was repaired, her looms empty and the gifts for a few friends prepared. The yule log was waiting and for all sense and purpose she should be drinking tea and listening to old records while sitting snug and warm in her home near Filey. But tonight Emma had dreamed of her long dead grandmother. The dream had her left with a sense of peace but also a determination to launch her dinghie. Grandmother McFarlane was said to be a wise woman, knowledgable about many things. Things she had tried to impart to her granddaughter but then Emma had been immersed in her life in Edinburgh studying Art, rarely coming home and generally being at a point of her life where everything was fresh, new and exciting if it was far away from her very rural origins on a sheep farm in Filey. Now, more than fifteen years later, she had learned not to ignore her instincts. While she did not know much about herbs and could not read other people’s illnesses like Gran had done she sometimes had flashes of things to come. Not seeing per se, but premonitions. Once, after a dance, Emma had the sudden feeling of it being imperative that her friend Catherine not be driving home with a neighbour. The neighbour was sober and an experienced driver, the car in good condition. Rationally it would have been a much better idea than walking home and catching a cold as both young women had done two hours later. In the morning Gran mentioned the neighbour had been hit by a drunk driver. Thankfully nothing much happened, the passenger side being completely destroyed but nobody had sat there as this place was usually reserved for Catherine who always felt ill on a backseat.

Premonitions, experiences and remembrance of Gran aside, it was a very bad idea to be out on the North Sea in December. Emma checked the horizon and the wind and made to turn around when she noticed something at the edge of her vision. An angular shape was barely visible that should not be there. Carefully she steered her dinghie closer, expecting a container ship far off the usual ocean lanes. But the shape did not move. It sat on a small island that no map Emma had ever seen of the area contained. And she knew this stretch of sea like the back of her hand, her grandfather had made sure of that. The woman checked her position again, checked with the sun and with her GPS. The outcome was the same spot in the North Sea, a spot that should not show an island.   
Long forgotten stories about places only visible on certain days came to Emma’s mind. Her day had started strange enough, what harm could a non-existing island bring? The wind around the shape, now recognisable as a tall and forbidding building, was a little less violent which enabled the sailor to approach slowly. A cove hosted a small pier where she moored the boat. The ground was slick and the whole athmosphere depressing. A short way from the pier a rusty door was set in the dark-grey wall of the building. There were no sounds safe the waves, not even seagulls. Emma pushed down the handle and the door opened with a screech. She drew her shawl closer. The air inside was just as humid as outside and the stench was terrible. The short hallway led to a four cells, two on each side. Three doors were open. Cobwebs and mould were on the walls and the ground was uneven. Emma approached the fourth door with caution. The cell was secured with a heavy looking cross-piece and there was a small, barred window. Inside it was completely dark.

“Hello?”

Emma heard an indrawn breath and some shuffling. She wished for a torchlight and patted her pockets for some matches. She found some from Russells in Malton. When a face appeared behind the window she nearly dropped them. The man, for it was a man, had long and tangled dark hair and a beard. He looked gaunt and his eyes were wide open with shock.

“Go away, quickly! They will hurt you!”

The prisoner had a slight accent she could not place. In the years to come Emma could not say what prompted her to tackle the wooden cross-piece, slick and heavy as it was, but fleeing from whatever the man was hinting at and leaving him there simply had not been an option. When she put her shoulder under the beam it finally let up. With a curse Emma jumped away from the door to avoid crushed toes as the heavy wood toppled down. She dragged it further down the hallway and returned to the celldoor. There were no further locks and after using some force the wings of the door opened. The man made no move to come out, he even tensed further when Emma stretched an arm in his direction. His eyes moved from side to side and his breath was coming in short puffs. If she could not calm him down he would faint. Using the same voice she employed with panicked sheep tangled in brambles she spoke,

“Come on, come with me. I have a boat outside. Let’s leave this forsaken place.”

“You real?” He was full of grime from head to toe but without a tactile reminder of reality he might not move. At least not quick enough. Out of the blue Emma had a feeling of the walls closing in on them, as if a big black bird was sitting on her very soul. She leaned forward and took the man’s hand.

“We have to leave! Please, come on!” 

He made a tentative step and then another but froze again, looking over Emma’s shoulder at something. Concentrating on the shaft of light coming from the open door, on the smell of the sea, she dragged the man towards the pier. At the end of the hall she felt something like cobwebs dragging over her face but saw nothing in the dusk. Outside the prisoner seemed to shrink back from the comparative brightness but his steps grew surer as he saw the boat.  
They were on the pier and Emma had to use both hands to guide the man into the bobbing dinghie. She pulled the “Kitty” along the pier, jumped aboard and was lucky to find wind immediately. Her passenger was crouched in the middle of the boat, staring at the rapidly diminishing rock and the prison on it. The sea got rougher and rougher and a particular nasty wave made the man looking more green than ghostly white. Emma tried to get his attention.

“Sir!”

“Sir!”

Finally he focused on her.

“They’re gone! They turned around!” Emma could not care less whatever her passenger had seen, for now she was responsible of getting them back on land.

“You are looking a bit ill. If you get seasick just stay where you are, do not try to put your head over the rail. In this wind we would capsize!” The man looked troubled while Emma stemmed her weight against the ropes. In June this wind might have been a nice challenge.

“Hold tight, we are about half an hour from the harbour.”

The passenger was crouching on all fours, arms and legs braced against the roll of the boat. Emma had no freedom to examine him any closer, too demanding were wind and waves. Within eyeshot of the coast both relaxed a bit. The sailor had to remind her passenger to keep his head clear of the mast when she made a wide turn to get to the mouth of the harbour.   
Thankfully no one was down at the quay, not even the fishermen. Emma’s guest looked a fright with the strange tunic he wore and the rags wrapped around his feet. She had to steady him while climbing ashore. 

“Over there is a hut for the fishermen, they change in there before going to the market. I have some clothes stored there. You can shower and change while I secure the boat. I have to row her out to the buoy there in the inner harbour.”

The man nodded gratefully. They walked over to the hut and Emma fished for the key behind the drip rail. Inside it was truly very basic – a table, an ancient transistor radio, shower stall and three rows of locker cupboards with Filey family names on them. She found her father’s old boilersuit, a pair of warm socks and even the welly shoes he had used for the market stall.

“I am sorry, I don’t think there’s a lot of warm water,” she apologized, eyeing the ancient little boiler with suspicion.

“It is so much more than what I had, I will manage, thank you.”

She left him to it and made her way back to the “Kitty”. Half an hour later the dinghie looked like all the other boats moored there – stowed away and secured for the winter storms. Emma was not sure whether the man she had rescued – or had she abducted him? - would still be where she had left him. He was. The man had sweept the area before the basin because he had cut his hair and beard, he was waiting in clean clothes with a full dustbinliner with his old clothes and hair. He looked thoroughly exhausted.  
“My name is Emma. I do not know what that island is but tonight I dreamed of my grandmother and she told me to go sailing in that area. You are welcome to stay at my sheepfarm until you get your bearings back.” 

“My name is Antonin. I am very grateful for your offer.”

They locked up and made rather slow progression towards Emma’s ancient range rover. The drive to East Flotmanby Hall Farm was short.

“Would you rather eat something or have a hot bath first?” 

Antonin’s chattering teeth were her answer. She showed him the guest bathroom upstairs, glad to have it finished during the summer.

“Please don’t lock, I have to look for clothes and I will bring you tea.”

“Might I trouble you for a razor? I fear I have lice.”

“Of course. And if you permit I could treat your feet, later on.” He looked surprised.

“How do you know?”

“I have sheep. If a stable looked like your cell on the rock the sheep would have open sores.”

He sighed and nodded.


	2. Chapter 1

Thankfully on a farmhouse nothing ever gets thrown away. Emma found briefs and vests of her father still in their original packaging as well as flannel pyjamas. She bundled everything up with lots of towels and her pink ladyshave, knocked and put everything on a little stool next to the bathtube. Antonin was immersed in lots of foam, his cheeks unnaturally red.

“Do you feel faint?”

“A bit wobbly, to be true. I can feel the heat is taxing but it just feels so good.”

“Don’t drown while I make tea.”

Downstairs Emma made tea with little milk and lots of honey and put an oatmeal gruel on the stove to simmer. She hurried back upstairs. Antonin had started to shave his body hairs but had to give up due to exhaustion. Emma pressed the tea into his shaking hands, changed the water and set to work. He was way too thin, had lots of funny looking scars, a faded tattoo on his left forarm and was littered with cuts, bruises and sores. After towelling him dry she offered, “Downstairs there’s gruel and a yule-log. You could rest a bit before I get my vet kit.”

In the living room she put her guest under a quilt on the settee, gruel and more tea within easy reach, and busied herself in the kitchen. For that day she’d planned a simple beef stew. If she put some more vegetables in it Antonin might be able to eat a bit as well.

“More tea?”

“Yes, please. I feel I should tell you some things about me.” 

“It need not be now. I do know that there is something different about you, you having been on an island that doesn’t exist is a pretty big clue.”

“Then later. Do your worst, please.” Emma fetched her kit and more towels.

“If you get an infection I cannot treat I would like to call a doctor, is that all right with you? Or if that sound from your lung gets worse.”

“Of course. But I heal quickly.”

She worked over an hour. Antonin had an abnormally high pain treshold, the only time he bit into the offered towel was when Emma cleaned and sutured a ragged cut on his shoulder. By the time she had disposed of the soiled wipes and pus-covered towels he had fallen asleep. She left him on the settee with another quilt and a thermos and left to distribute her presents. That trip took longer than expected as in every house there was a chat to be had and an invitation for either dinner or a party to be declined. Driving home Emma looked in to her sheep and collected her dogs, Stan and Ollie. The breeder had named them Dallas and Denver, but then he always wore a stetson as well. Not knowing how Antonin would react to her dogs Emma commanded them to stay in the kitchen before looking in on her guest.  
He woke up when she checked his temperature. The collar of his pyjamatop was soaked with sweat and he ran a fever but not too high.

“Are you up to being introduced to my dogs?”

“I’d like to sit up before they come.” Emma stopped herself from helping him, memories of her late father’s illness and his weakness and pride resurfacing. The way he held himself and his hands told her that Antonin had experience with dogs. At his nod she whistled the signal for `approach with care´. Emma had trained her dogs herself and knew what they were capable of but seeing them standing shoulder to shoulder, alert and attentive, made her proud. Her patient extended his left hand slowly, relaxing his shoulders. Stan, the more headstrong of the duo, looked at his mistress for permission. She gave it with a nod and was rewarded with a smile that changed Antonin’s gaunt face when the dogs first sniffed the new person in the house and then let themselves being petted throroughly. She withdrew to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the stew. When she came back her guest’s eyes were suspiciously moist and her dogs were laying in front of him like sentinels.

“There’s stew and bread if you feel up to it.”

“Yes, thank you. It smells wonderful.”

Emma brought two bowls and a basket of bread into the living room and dragged her father’s recliner closer to the table as the settee was taken.

“I would not want to inconvenience you during your holidays.”

“Don’t worry. I will tell you what I usually do and you can join or not. Today I had planned on watching an old movie on the telly, finish some knitting and then smoking the house for the first time. Maybe some mulled wine before bed.”

“That sounds like a plan. Is it all right if I stay down here? I fear I am dreaming and will be back in Azkaban prison if I close my eyes. Hearing and seeing you and the dogs helps.”

“So that’s what it is called – Azkaban? It felt like the worst kind of depression.”

“It is just that. There are beings there called Dementors that feed on any happy thought or emotion one has. They were trying to stop us from leaving and were following the boat for a while.”

“I did not see anything.”

“That’s good, actually. They float, have a horrid cloaca type mouth and a body like black lichen.”

“I think I felt one of them. In the hallway there was a sensation like running into spiderwebs.”

Antonin shuddered.

“It was a close call. They would have killed you because of me.”

“They would have killed me because I went ashore on an island I knew should not be there, it would have had nothing to do with you. If I hadn’t found you in that cell I would have stayed even longer.”

He shook his head but did not argue any longer, falling asleep shortly after finishing his bowl. Emma put the kitchen to right and loaded the washing machine with all the clothes of her father and grandfather she found. Making herself a cup of coffee she sat down in the kitchen to think things through. Dreams of Gran or not, abducting a strange prisoner from an island was not to be made light of. After another cup and three chocolate biscuits she decided to follow her gut-feeling - taking care of Antonin was the right thing to do – for now and think more about the whole situations when she had more information. Information her guest would have to provide when he was a bit better.

“Is there a bathroom downstairs?”

“Yes, I’ll show you.” There was a toilet and a shower in the utility room. The washing maching was starting it’s spin cycle and made quite some noise, having been in service since nearly thirty years. Antonin was staring at it wide-eyed.

“What’s that?” Emma was about to make a joke when she realised that he was dead serious.

“A washing machine. It washes, then rinses and finally spins dirty clothes.”

“It moves on its own.”

“This machine is very old. The centrifugal forces of the spinning cycle make it wobble. As the ground here is not perfectly even it moves a bit around. It will stop soon.”

He made his way over to the toilet, keeping his eyes on the washing machine. Emma left the room and started on the mulled wine. She had an open bottle of red left over from the beef stew. Antonin sniffed the air when he shuffled into the kitchen and smiled.

“Shall I peel the orange?”

“Yes, thank you.” When they were settled at the kitchen table with the ingredients he spoke again, “I feel there are some explanations in order.”

“If you feel up to it. After the washing machine I thought you might have grown up Old Order Amish.”

“Amish? What’s that?”

“The Amish people are traditional Christians who eschew modern technology.”

“Ah. No, I am not Amish but I come from a very obscure circle of people. I am strictly forbidden to talk to anyone outside about it, therfore if you are asked about me by my people you have to say that we are betrothed.” Emma’s eyebrows rose at that oldfashioned choice of words but she agreed readily enough.

“All right, fiancée, tell me.”

“I am a wizard. I can do magic. Not a lot at the moment as I am too exhausted for it.” He pointed his finger at the candle on the window sill, murmered “shehtsh” and the wick was alight. The window was at least two metres from Antonin, too far for a sleight of hand. Emma blinked slowly and went over to examine the candle. It burned just as it ought to be, the flame was real and no illusion. She sat back down again. 

“In Britain there are around ten thousand witches and wizards. They live mostly separated from people without magic who are called Muggles. Sometimes the lines blur and there are people like your grandmother and maybe yourself who can sense magic. It should not have been possible for you to have seen Azkaban and yet you did. Where there any other instances when you felt something inexplainable?”

“Sometimes I see flashes of things happening in the future. Or I have a strong premonition about decisions, like which way to take or about how trustworthy a person is. My Gran could diagnose illnesses long before modern medicine yielded any results. And my father could sort of talk to animals. He always made light of this as sheep are fairly simple minded but he could calm down the wildest horse and our sheep-dog were the best trained far and wide. Over the time I have learned to trust my instincts, but on the 21st it was a close call. Seeing the Sea I questioned my sanity.”

Emma put some paperthin biscuits with anise seeds on the table with the mulled wine.

“I am glad you sailed.”

“Is there a possibility of the floating things to follow you here?”

“No. They can’t move far from the island without a specific order. I am not sure even that I was an official prisoner this time around, I have never seen a human warden during my stay there. Where are we?”

“This is Filey, we are south of Scarborough.”

“York has a small wizarding community. We might get a newspaper there.”

“Well, yes, but you should not go anywhere as long as you have that fever, even if it is not too bad and until your wounds are at least scabbed over.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She threw a towel at him and announced that “It’s a wonderful live” would start in a few minutes.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Antonin was fascinated by the TV as well as by the film. He sat there mesmerized, munching biscuits. After the rest of the stew and a second, very small glass of mulled wine he slept like a log. The next days followed a similar pattern. When Emma was looking after her sheep Antonin would read or listen to the radio. He managed to find some Russian stations fiddling with the longwave button. Over lunch and dinner they would talk about small things like the farm, Emma’s weaving or the differences between the Muggle and the wizarding world. Antonin’s wounds were healing astonishingly fast. After a week he had no fever anymore and was quite mobile around the farm. He had looked over Emma’s woven blankets and shawls and had tried to understand how her loom worked. Stan and Ollie had at first followed him around but soon accepted him into the household. 

Carl, the postman, had delivered a parcel, walking into the farm’s kitchen as usual while Antonin sat there reading the newspaper. Emma had introduced him as an old acquaintance from her university days. Knowing Carl to be one of Filey’s biggest gossips they had concoted a story of an old friend visiting and falling ill, staying longer than intended. Catherine had grilled her friend at her annual Christmas party but Emma had kept her cool and tried to deflect her friend’s rather nosy questions.

“But Em, Carl told me that your `old friend´ is rather handsome, in a rougish way.”

“Carl is entitled to his opinions.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard of him before? I think it is time for you to go steady with someone.”

“You haven’t heard of Antonin because he wasn’t in my close cercle of friends, we only exchanged some letters recently.”

“You should have brought him along, it is high time for new men in our boring little village!”

“Yesterday he still ran a slight fever, it is too early for him to go out.”

“Well then brew him some of your Grannie’s teas and bring him over at New Year.”

“We’ll see, I can ask if he plans to stay that long.”

“Describe my new red dress to him, it might make him stay.”

“Will do. And I’ll describe how tall and possessive your husband is.”

“Spoilsport!”

The day after Boxing Day Antonin asked his host for her time for a talk. They settled in the living room with tea, Stan and Ollie in front of the settee and Emma in her chair by the fire.

“Emma, I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am. You rescued me from that blasted island, took me in and cared for me. No one has done as much since I’ve been a little child. You deserve to know more about me. I do not want to endanger you.”

“You are welcome. I have thought this over. I have a few questions and I guess your answers will tell me how to proceed. For now I decided to follow my gut-feeling that – as crazy as it sounds – sailing in such weather, kidnapping an inmate and sheltering him is just the right thing to do.”

“Ask your questions.”

“You told me that Azkaban is a wizarding prison. Why were you there?”

“That’s a long story. I was born to a traditional wizarding family near Irkutsk in Russia. My mother one day went collecting herbs for potions and as it was a fine day she took my little brothers with her, Mikhail and Alexej were four and five then. I could not go with them because I had lessons with my tutor. Later we learned that my mother must have enchanted some flower blossoms to float around for the boys to amuse themselves while she cut her herbs. Someone from a nearby village had seen her doing magic. He gathered a mob. My mother and my brothers were bludgered to death. Normally a witch could flee by Apparating, that’s a form of travel where you go from one place to another by concentrating hard. One has to have enough strong and stable magic for it, my mother could not take them all to safety because she was pregnant, a time during which a witch’s magic can fluctuate wildly. My father went looking for them when they did not return for dinner. By the time he found the right place the villagers had placed the bodies on a stake and burned them. There was nothing left even to take back for a burial. My Batshka was a very powerful wizard. He cast a freezing charm on the people around the fire, about twenty men, and looked into their minds. That’s how he learned what had happened. Then he killed them all with blasting curses. He took me away with him to Britain where he had some business contacts.”

Emma put her good whiskey and two glasses on the coffee table.

“How old were you?”

“Eight. I knew no English and my father was in no state of mind to explain what had happened to me. I grew up hearing what monsters Muggles were and, fearing for his last remaining child, he isolated me to an unhealthy extent. At the age of eleven most British wizarding children go to Hogwarts, a boarding school in Scotland. I was a quiet child but I found friends at school. Naturally I tended to avoid children with ties in the Muggle world. Some of the elder pupils told us about an organisation geared to preserve the magical world with the aim of a stricter segregation to Muggles. At the age of seventeen I joined. The leader was a charismatic man who spoke at meetings about the dangers of new Muggle technology, about guns and bombs. Most of us had grown up with stories of witch-hunts, some had personal experiences like me. We fell for it, naturally, and thought of doing the right thing for preserving our way of living. Later the movement’s name was changed from `Knights of Walpurgis´ to `Death Eaters´- meaning that he promised us a way to cheat death. I heard about skirmishes and even outright attacs but I was working on wards. Wards are magical barriers. For instance if I warded your meadow against wolves they could not cross the ward-line or even would not smell the sheep. Similar wards protect wizarding parts of cities like London or even York. A Muggle would not see the entrance for York’s wizarding district and maps or photographs would not show it either. If we went there you would have to hold my hand to see it. But then you saw Azkaban.”

“There are no wolves in Britain, but if you warded my vegetable patch agains deer and slugs that would make my life easier.”

“For slugs even wizards have to use a repellant, deer are a possibility.”

“Shame. Why were you in prison?”

“When you found me it was my second time there. The first time was from 1981 to 1995. The tattoo on my left arm was enough to convict me for being a Death Eater, additionally I got charged with the murder of two Aurors, wizarding police men. That charge was false, I was second to a duel between them and two friends of mine. The Aurors were loosing and their friends attacked. I do not know whether I hit one of them fatally but it would have been self defense anyway. In 1981 our leader, who called himself Lord Voldemort, had been vanquished when he tried to kill a child who had been prophetized to be his downfall. The Death Eaters were considered terrorists and prosecuted accordingly. As backwards as the wizarding society is there never were any trials, we were sent off to prison by the winners.”

Antonin was growing visibly tired and Emma asked him to stop.

“You need not tell me everything in one go. I will prepare lunch and you can rest.”  
After lunch he looked a bit better.

“I want to bring you up to speed. In 1994 Voldemort, the Dark Lord, managed to resurrect himself by using the darkest and foulest magic possible. He had been growing more and more unstable before his downfall, now he was downright crazy. But he broke me and my friends out of Azkaban and I felt I owed him. It took nearly a year for me to function properly again after fourteen years of Azkaban. Then we were sent on a mission, to guard the prophecy. We were accosted by a bunch of teenagers, friends of the boy the Dark Lord wanted to kill in 1981. I tried to stay in the background, mostly for selfish reasons, as I felt nowhere near ready for combat. One girl put a silencing spell on me and I lashed out with a cutting curse. I hurt her grieviously. She is all right again but will bear a scar on her torso for the rest of her life. That is something I will regret forever, I never set out to hurt children, that would make me no better than the villagers who killed my mother and brothers. There was a battle that ended the war, for it had escalated to a civil war within wizarding society, in May, Voldemort was killed and his followers captured. Again there were no trials. I do not know why I ended up in that isolated part of Azkaban as I never saw a human guard. Food was provided by magical means. I don’t know how long I would have lasted had you not come.”

“I am glad that I found you.”

Neither spoke for a while. Emma thought of something.

“Then you have no way to know whether any friends of you are still in that awful place. I checked the map and the GPS, I could find it again.”

“That’s much too dangerous. And most of my friends from school are either dead or gone crazy after their first stint in prison. There is one, Severus, who had been a spy for a long time. I hope the winning side looked after him, if he survived the final battle. The Dark Lord did not like traitors.”

“Would we find information in York?”

“Yes, there’s a branch of Gringotts, the wizarding bank, there and surely they have a bookshop.”

“I have to go to the market on Saturday but after that we can travel to York if you feel up to it. We would have to take the train, my car is all right for going as far as Scarborough but not on a motorway.”

“Thank you. There’s a wizarding bank in York, maybe I can access my money.”

Emma wanted to protest but sensed that it was a matter of pride.

“We’ll see.”

That night moans coming from the guestroom alerted her to Antonin having a nightmare. She approached the bed carefully but still had to dodge a strike that would have knocked her out.

“Antonin! Wake up, it’s a nightmare!”

He sat up with his eyes wide open, breathing heavily.

“Who are you?”

“I am Emma and you are safe. You are in my guestroom and you had a nightmare.”

“I was back, I was back there, so cold, so cold.”

She reached for his hand and took it between her’s, rubbing slow circles on it’s back. Gradually Antonin’s breathing calmed and his eyes looked less wild. When he focused on the ACDC-t-shirt she wore to bed she knew he was back.

“I know that band, Sev loves it. Sorry about giving you a fright.”

“Think nothing of it. Your telling me your story must have triggered it.”

“Likely.” He sat up against the headboard, drawing his arms around his knees.

“Would you like a hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please.” Antonin made a move to accompagny Emma to the kitchen. 

“Stay, it is a cold night.” Something in his demeanour made her whistle for the dogs, as he clearly did not want to be alone at the moment.

“Stan and Ollie aren’t allowed upstairs!”

“Under special circumstances they are. They’re working dogs. If they can guard me against a thunderstorm they can guard you against falling asleep again.”

Emma put on her robe and hurried to bring back two mugs of hot chocolate and a blanket. It was the coldest night so far, the wind howling around the house, tugging at the shutters. Back in Antonin’s room she put the blanket over his duvet. She slipped under the covers of the far side of his bed and commanded the dogs to hop onto the space between them.  
Pressing one mug into his hands she enquired,

“Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No, I’d rather forget it. This weather sounds a lot like the winter at my grandmother’s house. Do you get snow here?”

“Yes, but not much and not for long. Tell me about your grandmother.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

The next morning Emma woke up with a crick in her neck, having slumped down against the headboard sometime the night before. Stan, Ollie and Antonin were snoring and the landscape outside was white with a surprising amount of snow. The wind had settled down, at least there would be no snowdrifts. The rangerover was ill-equipped for harsh weather but Filey’s Tesco was not too farm from the farm. She left the bedroom door open so that the dogs would not have to wake up Antonin if they wanted out and made her way into her own bedroom to dress.  
Halfway through her second piece of toast Emma heard the shower upstairs. She put on the coffee – Antonin only drank tea in the afternoon – and started her shopping list. As she hadn’t expected a guest over the holidays her supply was a bit depleted.

“Good morning.” Antonin had let the dogs out before coming into the kitchen, hair still wet.

“Good morning. Your coffee’s just about ready.”

“Thanks.” Usually it took at least one cup for him to wake up properly. Shopping list finished Emma crossed the courtyard to her workroom. On Saturdays there was a Sunset Market at Scarborough where she usually had a small stall. The Saturday after Christmas was bound to be busy and she prepared more than usual shawls and blankets.  
Back in the kitchen Antonin seemed to have reached a state of responsiveness already.

“I have to shop for groceries. If you want you could tag along. The supermarket in Filey does not carry clothes, we only have some charity shops. But there is another one a little further where you could get shoes.”

The clothes from her father and grandfather fit more or less, only their shoes were too big for Antonin. It did not matter with slippers but his forays around the farm at the moment were done with clogs and two pairs of socks.

“I’d like to try the charity shops for shoes first.”

“You know it’s not a question of money, do you? Any shoes at the supermarket are bound to be of little quality and not a lot more expensive than used ones at the charity shop.”

His hands were clenching a towel and Emma cursed herself for plundering on in her usual fashion. Something more than money was at the root of this. While he handled all appliances in her home with applomb Antonin might be apprehensive of venturing out and meeting more people, therefore rather going for a small shop.

“Sorry, Antonin. We will go to the charity shop. I can drop you off here before going on to the supermarket. I find it overwhelming there and I go every Friday.”

“I am not worried about the money. If I can get a wand in York I might not be able to repay you in Pounds but I could do a lot of otherwise tedious things around here like fixing fences or reinforcing the roof in the shed and warding your vegetables against deer.”

“That would be fine with me. Let’s get you some shoes.”

Antonin gripped the dashboard rather tightly when Emma’s ancient range rover grumbled to life. She had to show him how to work the safety belt and how to change the position of his seat to accommodate his long legs. 

“Nelly here is nearly as old as the washing machine. My grandfather named her. She is loud but perfectly safe as long as I don’t push her too far. Going to York we would need the A64 which is partly a motorway. Nelly is too slow for driving on a motorway, I’d rather use the train for that.”

“Train is good.”

Antonin was still looking a little green. Emma tried to distract him.

“How do wizards get from A to B?”

“Grown ups do Apparitions, that is basically wishing yourself from one place to another while turning on your left heel. You have to know the place you are going to. Another way is Flooing. You use a special powder, step into a fireplace and call out your destination. Or you can fly a broom.”

“Witches in fairytales usually fly by broom.”

“Yes, I think that centuries ago, when the wards between the Muggle and the magical world were much weaker, witches were actually seen flying by Muggles.”

By then they had reached St Catherine’s Hospice Shop in Filey. Antonin found nice leather shoes and sturdy boots as well as some sweaters and books on algebra and analysis and a repair guide to utility vehicles. No one bothered them but outside Emma spoke up.

“I think we should agree on a story as to who you are and why you are staying with me. This is a small village and people gossip. I told my friend Catherine that you are an acquaintance from my university days that fell ill during a visit.”

“That’s fine. I worked as a wards master, I am not sure how that translates into a Muggle occupation. I use Arithmancy which is a lot like this.” He pointed to his maths books.

“We could tell people that you work with probability calculation for insurance companies. That’s so boring no one will ask further.”

“It’s what I actually do when designing wards. I calculate which rune works best under what conditions.”

“Right. Home or brave Tesco’s?”

“I have been to a Muggle shop called Harrod’s once.”

“You can always wait in the car if it gets too much.”

“Let’s try that Tesco’s.”

This time the drive was less fraught with tension, Antonin watching her using the gear-shift and operating the blinkers with interest. Tesco’s was busy but manageable. Her guest lingered in the sweets aisle and finally opted for Jammie Dodgers.

That evening was spent with Antonin pouring over the manual and asking numerous questions about the mechanics of vehicles Emma could answer only partly.

“I might be able to do something about that car of yours if I understand how it works properly.”

“I’m not sure about that. If it does not work I am without a car. I can’t afford a new one for my purposes. I might be able to find a used Toyota somewhere cheap but no jeep.”

“I would start with easily reversible things.”

“I’ll think about it. There’s an ancient tractor in the outer shed. You could take it apart to learn how these things work. On Saturdays I go to the market in Scarborough with my shawls and blankets, I need a car for that.”

\---

In the morning that Saturday Emma loaded her car and drove to Scarborough. She dressed in her warmest clothes. The market was held in the market hall but with temperatures around zero outside one got chilled quickly. Attendance was good and by noon she had made nearly twohundred quid with her wares.   
During a lull at lunchtime she found time to catch up with the owner of the neighbouring stall, Angus, who sold mead, honey and candles. He was a broadshouldered man of five and forty with a red – going on to grey recently – beard and laughterlines around his eyes. He lived on the moors with his bees and some sheep and sometimes a woman he had met on fairs or medieval festivals. Usually they lasted up to six months in his bothy without any modern conveniences like running warm water or television.   
Emma knew that he still held some tendré for a highschool girlfriend who had gone on to be an accountant. In their early twenties neither had been able to compromise enough to make it work in the long run. If she were a romantic Emma would hope for a happy end there somewhere in the future. For five years now Angus and she met for casual sex between relationships, at her home or his, or even out on the moors. Today would not be such a day, the roads to his home too icy to contemplate driving them with Nelly and Antonin at home at the farm.

“I’d heard I’d narrowly missed you on Cat’s party, luv. What’s with that friend of yours?”

“Don’t know yet, Angus. He stayed over the holidays because he got a fever.”

“So he will leave after the New Year?”

“I’m not sure, he’s freelancing, he can work from everywhere.”

“You sure he’s not taking advantage of you?”

She snorted inelegantly.

“If you want to know whether I am sleeping with him the answer is no. If he wanted me money I had to sell Nelly which would bring about 300 quid. So far he only exploited my stock of Earl Grey and oatmeal, don’t worry, Angus, I’m a big girl.”

“You’re one of the most levelheaded women I know, I am not worrying, maybe it’s just the time to get maudlin.”

“You could call Simone, you know? She’s divorced these two years, her kids are teens already. Go for a coffee somewhere and catch up. She’s always friendly when she drops by here.”

“And then? She won’t come to live with me anymore than twenty years ago, hell, even I meself am fed up with my house sometimes.”

“Of course she won’t move in next week, she’s got her kids to consider. An evening at her place, a weekend at yours when the children are with their father. Simone’s had her white picket fence dream of respectability. And I know that you haven’t spent the inheritance from your father. Invest it in a bathroom.”

“Been thinking about it. – Oh, hi, Simone.”

Angus’ crush was looking good and he was tongue-tied all of a sudden. Emma decided to meddle.

“Hi Simone, you look fabulous!”

“Thanks, Em. What am I hearing, you’ve got a man living with you at the farm?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, he truly only stayed because he fell ill. Stayed in the guestroom, that is.”

“Moira saw you at Tesco’s. He’s supposed to be good looking in a scruffy sort of way.”

“I s´pose he is. Didn’t you renovate your bathroom last year? Angus is building one and doesn’t know where to start really.”

“Oh, Angus, I’d be glad to help. I planned and planned and still so much went wrong. Now I know what to do and which tradespeople are reliable but I won’t re-do any bathrooms for the next thirty years. Let’s meet and plan. I work half-days on Thursdays, would that work for you?”

Angus was torn between annoyance over Emma’s interference and joy about his date.

“Yes, of course. Foord’s work for you?”

“Yeah, I like their lunches. I’ll be there shortly after 1.”

“Lovely. – Yes, Ma’am, the mead is home-brewed. – See you on Thursday, Simone.”

“Bye, Angus, Em.”

Emma had a costumer then who was looking for some very late Christmas presents. She felt terribly smug about the development with Simone and Angus. While her neighbour was occupied with costumers she let her thoughts wander. Yes, Antonin was good-looking. Very lean, sure, but that was to be expected after Azkaban. More important was that he was good company. While not lonely per se sometimes she longed for company, someone to share her thoughts with, to discuss things. Her interaction with her guest circled around the differences between the Muggle and wizarding world but they talked about the farm as well. 

During the last few days Antonin had helped in the kitchen and Emma had been amazed how seamlessly they worked together considering that the kitchen had been solely her domain since her mother’s death more than ten years ago.   
Anything else she forbade herself from thinking about as in her eyes Antonin was still in a vulnerable position, very likely traumatised. And one small part of herself – even if the memory of her Gran prompted her to take things at face value – would not let go of the possibility that Antonin was an escaped lunatic and that the whole wizarding world lived in his head alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Entering the farmhouse Emma was greeted by a great smell. Her guest was listening to the radio, talking to the dogs in Russian and watching a pot of something she had never before seen or smelled on the stove.

“Hi, Antonin. That smells lovely!”

“It’s solyanka, or at least an approximation thereof. It should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Wonderful, I got fresh bread.”

After washing up and changing into cooler clothes Emma sat down on the table, warming her hands on a waiting cup of tea. Antonin was fairly brimming with exitement, too much to have been brought on by a soup. He put the telephone directory in front of her.

“Emma, what is this?”

“A telephone directory of Yorkshire and Lancashire. Everyone who has a telephone is listed in here.”

“Look here!” He pushed it over to her, pointing at an entry of one Tobias E. Snape in Cokeworth.

“Sev’s father was named Tobias! And Sev is from Cokeworth. That man could tell me where he is!”

This Sev – or Severus – was obviously a good friend of Antonin’s. He featured quite heavily in stories from their school days. While not spoken about directly her guest feared that his friend might have died during the last battle. Emma looked at her watch.

“Now might be a good time to call an elderly person.”

“You mean we could do it right now?”

“Yes. The phone is in the hall, let me put on my knitted waistcoat, it’s chilly out there.”

She wrote down the number, explaining to Antonin area codes and phone numbers.

“Do you want to do the talking?”

“Nah. Sev’s old man was never too keen on his school friends. A friendly female voice is more likely to gain information.”

Emma’s phone was one of the truly oldfashioned variant, complete with a dial. Antonin watched with fascination as she dialled the regional code for Cokeworth and then Snape’s number. The phone rang five times, then a gravelly voice answered,

“Snape.”

“Good evening, Mr Snape. This is Emma McFarlane calling. I am looking for your son, Severus.”

On the other end was silence, the man’s heavy breathing the only sound. Emma worried about causing him distress by asking after his son who possibly had died in that last battle.

“You are talking to Severus Snape but I haven’t ever heard about an Emma McFarlane.”

“I am glad to have reached you, Mr Snape, there is a friend of your’s who wants to speak to you.”

“I don’t talk to the press.” She felt he was about to put the receiver down when Antonin shoutet, “It’s me, Sev, it’s Toni!”

Snape fairly growled, “If that’s a prank I will hunt you down and cut you up in little pieces!”

Emma about had it, “Just talk to him, you suspicious bastard!” Antonin wrangled the receiver from her hand before the situation escalated.

“Sev, it is truly me. Do you remember when you managed to get drunk on eggnogg and puked on my new boots in our third year?”

Something between a sigh and a sob could be heard and Emma made a move to give them some privacy. Antonin laid his arm around her waist and kept her close, though.

“You are listed as dead, Toni, they even found your body. Not that they bothered much with Death Eaters but it must have been convincing.”

“I can’t say how that came about but I have been in Azkaban since the battle in May. In a part of it I’d never even knew existed, mind you, and I’ve only ever seen a house-elf and dementors, no human guards. Emma here wanted to explore the island, found me and took me home with her.”

“Who in their right mind wants to explore Azkaban island?”

“It’s a long story. How are you?”

“Exonerated somewhat. Recuperating.” Obviously this Snape was not a man of many words. 

“Do you think it might be safe for me to get a wand in York? Or do you have a spare one? Could we meet?”

“Be careful in York. If you’re straight out of Azkaban you might look similar to your wanted posters from `95. Someone might recognise you. I have my mother’s wand, it could work for you. If you want to visit I can’t stop you, I do not go out much.”

“Emma, could we go to Cokeworth? Is it far from here?”

“Beyond York and Leeds, about 5 miles southwest of Huddersfield. We would have to take the train.”

“Sev, we will be coming sometime next week.”

“Right. There’s no real wandmaker in York. They only do repairs and sell a few ready made wands. If Ms McFarlane can see Azkaban she could buy one for you, using transferrence.”

“I thought that’s a myth.”

“From what I’ve read it doesn’t work as well as in the strories but it is real nevertheless. You have to do it shortly before she goes in to the wandmaker, though.”

“We’ll talk about it. I’ll see you soon!”

“Bye, Toni, it’s been good to hear from you.”

“Don’t get soppy, Sev!”

Antonin managed to put the receiver down correctly, beaming at Emma.

“I am so glad that he is all right!”

“He sounded mightily put out to me. And I am not sure whether a visit from us is what he wishes.”

“Nonsense. You don’t know him. I know that he was glad to hear from me.”

“If you say so. He can’t be more rude than some of the farmers around here.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that but deep inside he is a good guy. Very deep inside.”

Emma chose to change the topic.

“He said you going to wizarding York might be dangerous.”

“If I looked like my wanted-posters from some years ago. With the short hair, no beard and Muggle clothes I don’t think that anyone safe a close aquaintance would recognise me. All friends and comrades are either dead or in prison. There might be school colleagues living in York but they haven’t seen me these twenty years. Without a wand I can’t change my appearance. What would Muggles do if they don’t want to be recognised?”

“Dye their hair, possibly. Although that is not necessary in winter, you can simply wear a hat. Or a baseball cap. Wait, I’ve got one here.” She rummaged in the hallway closet and produced a dark green cap advertising John Deere tractors. Antonin tried it on and liked how it shadowed his eyes. Emma found some sunglasses, too.

“Won’t they look ridiculous in winter?”

“A tad, but some men wear them as a fashion item. Or to hide red eyes.”

He studied himself in the mirror.

“If I shave and wear this not even my baboushka would recognise me.”

Emma startled.

“You know it is possible to call Russia, too. We might reach someone with a phone who knows your baboushka.”

“She died some years ago, the only family I have left are some third degree cousins.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. Would it be possible to go to York tomorrow?”

“That’s Sunday.”

“I am sorry. After church maybe?”

“I do not go to mass every Sunday, I just thought the shops might be closed.”

“No, they wouldn’t be closed. Some of them are on Monday, though.”

“Then I am going to pop over to the station for our tickets after dinner. They are cheaper if bought in advance.”

“My soup!”

The solyanka tasted interesting but quite good and went well with the bread. That night Antonin had another nightmare. The dogs alerted Emma to it. She went to his room and tried to wake him by calling. When that did not work she touched his hand, careful to stay out of his range.

“Merlin!”

“You had a bad dream, you’re safe, your friend is safe.”

Antonin sat up in his bed, rubbing his face.

“I did dream about Sev. The Dark Lord tortured him. Thankfully you woke me up.”

“Stan got me while Ollie tried to wake you up. Good dogs, clever dogs.” Emma gave them biscuits.

“You have dog biscuits in your robe pocket.”

“They’re oatmeal biscuits for humans. Sometimes I nibble on them while reading and having a cup of tea before sleeping.”

“What time is it?”

“Shortly after five. I would have to get up at six anyway.”

Antonin was fishing for his slippers, halfway out of his bed.

“You and the dogs keep the bed warm while I make tea.”

He even found the biscuits and had put them on a tray. When they were settled comfortably he grew serious.

“Emma, I think the risk for you is minimal, going to York today, but I would like to lessen it further. If you could change your appearance as well that would be good. If I get picked up by Aurors you must promise me to try to leave. The Statue of Secrecy demands that Muggles who are not at least affianced to a wizard cannot know about our world. I would tell that I put you under a curse and forced you to help me, you would not face any prosecution in the wizarding world, but you would be Obliviated. They would cast a spell that eradicates all you knowledge about our world but sometimes they are overzealous with the spell and victims of it have long-term memory issues. Do not try to help me but get away as fast and as far as possible if I am recognised.”

“Allright. Is there anything else I should know about the wizarding world?”

“Manners are rather old-fashioned. There are formidable witches and they are respected as such but when going as a couple the man usually does the talking. Some of my folk can do a type of mind-reading, try not to look anyone into the eyes.”

“Demure damsel it is? Two steps behind and one to the left of her wizard?” Her voice was rising.

“That would work fine, yes.”

Emma growled. 

“I know you are a strong and independent woman. We try to be as unobtrusive as possible! And you asked.”

“Very well. I’ll start breakfast and you shave before you help me with the sheep. If we go from York to Cokeworth today they need more hay.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Emma threw a pillow at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Antonin was fascinated by the train. They took a regional one from Filey, changing at Seamer. He told stories about the only train in Britain he had travelled so far, the Hogwarts Express. York was busy with tourists and shoppers. The entrance to the wizarding part of it was right next to the tower hill. Emma could not see it unless Antonin held her hand. She wore a long coat over jeans and boots and sunglasses, her reddish-brown hair hidden in a shawl. The wizard had put on the baseball cap and glasses, too, with an old donkey jacket of her father’s. He kept holding her hand as they wove through York’s Alchemy Alley. Emma was reminded of London’s Leadenhall Market. The stalls sold all sorts of wares, none of it manifactured from the look of it. Strange smells wafted from the open door of an apothecary. If she had not believed Antonin’s stories about his past she would so now. He moved with confidence and alertness, his posture not showing the strain he was under but his hand translated it to her. After walking down the alley once they went to the bank first. Emma had been primed on not to stare at the goblins. Antonin asked for a private conference. There he had to put a drop of his blood on a parchment. The goblin startled at the name appearing but soon caught himself.

“Mr Dolohov, how can Gringotts help you?”

“I would like to withdraw from my vault. I have every confidence in Gringotts discretion.”

“Naturally. We would not tattle on our clients anyway, as you well know, much less on a valued employee. My London brethren will want to know if you are available.”

“I was cut off from any news for a long time.”

“During the battle at Hogwarts on May 2nd Tom Riddle was vanquished for good. Some of his followers were taken into custody and are right now tried for anything that happened at the battle. Shortly before the battle Lord Yaxley had put a bill through the Wizengamot exonerating anyone of deeds done in the conflict between the Order of the Phoenix and Death Eaters. Minister Shacklebolt’s administration tried to undo it but all the old families and some of the Light are opposing him. Public opinion feels that for a fresh start the wizarding world needs to let bygones be bygones. From what I heard you were killed right at the start of the battle. It might be a formality to be a free wizard once again.”

“That is good news. Please tell your brethren that I will need some time to settle my affairs and that I will contact them as soon as possible.”

“Excellent, Mr Dolohov. How much do you wish to withdraw?”

“200 galleons and 500 British pounds. And a new moneypouch, effective for Muggle money as well.”

“You can collect it on the first till in the main room.”

“Thank you. May your gold flow and your enemies tremble at your feet.”

“And you, Master Dolohov.”

Outside Emma said, “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Most excellent news. There will be some legal matters to clear up but I should be safe. And you, too. Before coming back from the dead officially I want to clear up some matters. I think someone threw me into prison without telling anyone else. I have only vague memories of the battle as I was knocked over right at the beginning. Sev may find something in my memories, though.”

“It’s only one more hour to Cokeworth from here. Do you want to go today?”

“We could. I try to find a wand in the shop here. And I’d like to go to a bookshop. Maybe there’s something about the recent history of wizarding Britain for you to read. My account may be a little one-sided.”

“I gathered that. I have a friend in Belfast.”

“What’s Belfast got to do with it?”

“It’s the capital of Northern Ireland. There’s a conflict between the Protestant majority and the Catholic minority. Shootings and bombs and all.”

“Ah. Well. Let’s find a wand for me and then go celebrate?”

“Lead on.”

The wandmaker proved to be as unsatisfactory as Snape had predicted. Antonin chose a wand of the same core as his old one. It worked for most common spells but the shopkeeper cautioned him against using it for Apparition. He directed them to a public Floo however.   
Emma was apprehensive about Flooing. Until now everything could have been explained rationally. Throwing powder into a fireplace in York and alighting in one in London could not.  
Antonin saw her hesitation and the queue behind them. He picked her up bridal style and shouted `Diagon Alley´ before stepping into the flames. At the other end he nearly dropped her which enraged her further.

“You horrid man! If you ever pull such a stunt on me again-“ Emma could not finish her tirade as Antonnin dragged her away from the public Floo just in time for a family of four tumbling through.

“I am sorry. We were holding up the queue. I though it might be easier if you did not analyse it too closely.”

“This is beyond analysis. This, everything, is real! There might even be brooms that fly!”

“I had thought you had accepted that a while ago.”

“I thought so myself.”

“Do you want some tea.”

“I might need something stronger but I think you should get a fitting wand. I have a feeling that a wand is more important for wizards than you have let on.”

“I was too ill to feel it’s absence but now, yes, I would feel better if I had a wand that fits me.”

“Let’s go then.” 

Ollivander’s was thankfully empty. The old man blinked owlishly at Antonin and then a smile lit up his whole face.

“Oh, sir, I am glad seeing you so well! I would not have made it if not for your and your friends’ kindness. Thank you, thank you!”

“Think nothing of it, that was common decency. Mr Ollivander, are you required to report every sale you make?”

“No, that has changed under Minister Shacklebolt, thankfully. Now I have to match magical signatures if the Aurors present permission of the Wizengamot. Birchwood and dragon’s heartstring, strong and good for charms. Any chance of recovering it? It was a magnificent wand.”

“I haven’t contacted the ministry yet but even if I could get it back, I feel that I am ready for a new one. If I can get it back it will be a good secondary wand.”  
“Well then. We will start with the core.”

Emma was fascinated by the process of chosing a wand. Or rather letting a wand chose a wizard. It soon became evident that the dragon heartstring was still the best core for Antonin. Yet all birchwood wands with that core were a bad fit.

“Mhm. I wonder whether your affinity to birch for your first wand was rooted in longing for your home-country, where the tree is prevalent.”

“Possible. I was terribly homesick before starting at Hogwarts.”

Oak yielded better results but not the perfect fit. Then Antonin picked up a wand made from elder. His whole person seemed to stand straighter and the wand produced silver sparks. He would not put the wand down again and made a move to come over to hug Emma. Ollivander remarked, “Elder is a very special wood. Good for old magic, healing and transformative spells. I am not sure how well it would do with wards and cursebreaking, your speciality. And it is a wood associated with death, but rather in the sense that only wizards who have been to hell and back can wield it.”

“No matter, Mr Ollivander, this wand feels absolutely right. I will try it out carefully and work my way through to more complicated wards. This is a sign, mayhap, for me to try something new.”

“And I wish you well, Mr Dolohov. I have a feeling this isn’t the last I’ve heard of you.”

“We’ll see.”

Antonin payed for the wand and a holster. They turned to leave when he asked the wandmaker, “Sir, do you sense any magic from my companion? Would she be able to carry a wand?”

Emma tensed. As fascinating the wizarding world was, she was all right in her own. She truly felt no need to wave a wand to switch off the light.

“May I hold your hands, madam?” She decided to humor the old man. Ollivander closed his eyes, humming a little tune. Then he let her hands go and went back into his workroom. The wandmaker put some pieces of wood in front of Emma.

“Could you tell me which one is allright and which one is damaged by holding these pieces?”

She did as she was told. The cherry wood felt good, cheerful even, the oak laid back, also in a good way. The beech not so, it was full of a strange tension. Emma told Ollivander and he clapped his hands.

“Quite right! This beech grew on the site of a gruesome murder. The tree looked fine on the outside, it would do no harm to use its wood in a fire, but not for wands. Madam, while you are no witch in our sense of the word you are truly attuned to nature. Follow your instincts there and consider a career in herbology or something similar.”

“I am a farmer and I design and weave shawls and blankets from the wool of my sheep. And sometimes I have flashes of things that happen in the future. By now I know to not ignore my gut-feelings.”

“Marvellous, marvellous. Just as it ought to be. Look for an elderbush on your grounds if you handfast with Mr Dolohov, it will grant you many happy years.”

Neither Antonin nor Emma knew what to say to that and with a lot of twinkling Ollivander shooed them from his shop. She chose to distract him from what the wandmaker said and asked about his gratitude.

“The Dark Lord held Mr Ollivander captive for some months. He is over ninety already. Some friends and I brought him food and healing potions, it was nothing, really.”

Just then Antonin’s stomach growled. 

“Lunch? Do you want to stay here or go back into Muggle London?”

“Maybe a quick stop in the bookshop over there and then back to London?” He nodded. In `Flourish and Blotts´ they found a book about wizarding Britain’s most recent history and then walked through the `Leaky Cauldron´ into Muggle London. Lunch in a vegetarian café on Neal’s Yard was fraught with uncommonly uneasy silences between them. Both seemed to have questions they hesitated to ask each other. Finally Antonin spoke.

“Visiting Severus is bound to be exhausting. Shall we do it in a day or two?” That answered one of Emma’s questions – would Antonin stay with her now that he was nearly a free man? – neatly.

“Yes, today has been daunting, sometimes. I’d rather sit in front of the fire with the dogs. And possibly watching you try out your new wand. You wizards have no idea how strange that sounds, do you?”

He laughed, “Most wizards understand wand-jokes by their second year at Hogwarts. Let’s get home, I play with my wand and you watch to your heart’s content.” Emma threw a napkin at Antonin.

They looked for a secluded alley and Emma had to expirience her first Side-Along-Apparition. She did not like it at all.

“Please don’t tell me we have to do this again soon!”

“It get’s better with every time. It has been too long since I’ve been to Cokeworth, for a safe Apparition you have to remember the place clearly. We could Apparate to York and take the train from there. It should be easier on you because it’s not as far. I noticed the train tickets are rather expensive. I would like to pay you back.”

“We’ll discuss it over dinner. I need a cup of tea.”

“Ok. I’ll go outside and play.”

“Take care on the westside border, there are often bird watchers with binoculars.”

“I’ll stay in the shed at first.”

Half an hour later Antonin looked into the living room, rosy cheeked and in a fabulous mood.

“Are you sufficiently recovered? If you like you could show me things to repair or clean or paint around the farm.”

Emma went outside with him. They started with little things like the odd socket secured with duct tape. Then the wizard repaired cracked tiles one by one, painted the hen-house in bottle-green and put a self-replicating charm on her loom, oiling every single screw.

“I would have to know more about weaving before I can be of real help here.”

“Could I still call it handwoven then? And do this spells work forever?”

“A spell like the one on the hen-house will react like real paint, it detoriates over time. You had the colour in the shed, I merely used magic to clean, dry and paint. The tiles should stay as they are, that spell only reverts if the caster has little power. Which I haven’t. If you could show me the borders I could ward your property.”

“Let’s do it another day, I want to start dinner. Are there any cooking spells that you know?”

“There are ones for peeling potatoes or cutting up vegetables. If you hurry the actual cooking with magic it does not taste as good as it could.”

“I planned pizza tonight, the dough is finished already. There’s not much cutting involved but you should tell me what toppings you like.”

Antonin kicked a pebble, looking at the far end of the courtyard.

“After dinner we should talk.”

He wanted to put nearly everything Emma had for toppings on his pizza, she at least cautioned him not to mix everything together. Ever since he had his new wand Antonin exuded an energy that seemed to come off him in waves. They settled in front of the fire with whiskey and water. Emma started with something innocuous.

“You feel different since the new wand.”

“That should settle down soon. For a long time my magic has focused on keeping me alive, now it is free of that restraints.” To Emma’s consternation Antonin moved to kneel in front of her chair, taking her hands, “Emma, you can’t know how precious your actions these last two weeks are to me. You took me in without question, you listened to what must have sounded like ravings of a madman, you took care of me after my nightmares, hell, you cleaned out the sores on my feet! I know I can never repay your kindness but please let me make it up to you in any way I can. Take my money, let me look after your sheep.” She had to laugh at this.

“If you could pay our traintickets that would be fine. Looking after the sheep is Stan and Ollie’s job. I am sure I will find things around the farm for you to fix with magic, the question is – do you want to stay that long, now that you can live your own life?”

“I want to stay for as long as you allow it. While it is convenient the more important reason for me is that I feel secure here, this place or maybe just you grounds me. I can be myself with you.”

“I have enjoyed having you here, I guess I’ve been far lonlier than I admitted to myself. I have lived here by myself since my father’s death nine years ago but never with another man. I have lovers now and then, a few acquaintances whom I meet and have sex with whenever we feel like it. What makes me feel a little bit uneasy is that I’ve started to notice you not as someone to take care of but as a man.”

“Me and my wand, eh?”

She threw a pillow again.


	7. Chapter 7

On Monday they Apparated to York and from there took a train to Huddersfield and on to Cokeworth. Antonin remembered the address, Spinner’s End. From the station it was a thirty minute walk through streets that got more and more dreary. Unkempt small houses, rubbish-strewn front yards and a few burnt out cars. Spinner’s End was a dead-end street going up to a boarded up mill full of graffiti. Number 42 looked no better than its neighbours. Antonin stood in front of it, looking worried.

“I can feel no wards whatsoever. Sev was always rather paranoid. This is strange.”

He knocked. After some minutes the door was opened. Stale air wafted out. The man who motioned them to enter was thin to the point of emaciation, pasty faced with greasy hair. The front door opened right into the sitting room, if one wanted to call that hovel such. Fish’n’chips wrappers, unread newspapers and bottles were everywhere. The whole setting exuded more desperation than Azkaban in Emma’s opinion.   
But some sense of self-preservation must still be in the man as he pushed Antonin towards a wall and put his wand under his chin in a fluid motion as soon as Emma had closed the door.

“What did we do to the Marauders after the library incident in our second year?”

“Put them in a closet and hexed them with a compulsion charm geared towards Filch. They all confessed their love and admiration to him.”

All fight seemed to leave the man, Severus. His shoulders slumped down and, when Antonin drew him in a hug, began to shake. Emma gave them some privacy and looked for the kitchen. In that room some cursory effort of cleaning had been made. The table was cleared and a single packet of Jammie Dodgers took place of pride. She found the tea-things and put the kettle on. The appliances were Muggle. Emma washed three mugs and put them on the table, waiting for the men to join her. They did just as tea was ready.

“Emma, this is my friend Severus Snape, Sev, that’s Emma McFarlane, my saviour.”

The hand Emma shook was cold and clammy, with a faint tremble. Sitting to Severus’ right side she saw that under the grimy collar he wore an old bandage, spotty with dirt, blood and pus. Obviously there was a still seeping wound under there.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms Mcfarlane.”

“Call me Emma, please.”

“Sev, what happened at the battle? I was knocked out by something early on. The goblins told me that it might be just a legal matter to get me exonerated. It sounds too good to be true.”

“It is partly right. Potter did it in the end. The Dark Lord killed him with the Killing curse but it didn’t work, again. It only killed a Horcrux embedded in the boy’s scar. The crazy bastard had made seven of them, can you believe it? No wonder he was so unstable. While he was crowing to the masses the boy stood up again and after some more posturing fired an Expelliarmus at Riddle, who promptly disintegrated. The remaining Death Eaters were rounded up and Lucius sent an elf to look for my body. Earlier on the Dark Lord had set his snake on me. I had taken antivenin, of course, but the beast got me in the neck. T’wound’s still not right.” He turned his head towards Antonin to show him the bandages and then continued, “It is true that Yaxley had put a bill through the Wizengamot shortly before the last battle. All crimes committed during what now is called Vold War 2 are nought and void, for both sides. I am exonerated, too, from murdering Dumbledore, as I was under a vow from him and he had ordered me to kill him before Draco would have to do it. If you contacted the ministry you would have a trial only for deeds between April 30th and May 2nd.”

“I haven’t done anything during that time. How did I end up in Azkaban then? Why was I listed as dead and who identified my corpse?”

“Yaxley did that and he is a crafty bastard. Whoever made that simulacrum must be clever to deceive the Head of Magical Law. It’s no bed of roses, mind you. The one time I ventured to Diagon without a glamour I got spit on.”

“I would like you to look at my memories of the battle and later on. Maybe we can find out who did this to me.”

“I can try but I fear I’m not much of use. I can’t even light my fireplace right now.”

“You’re not looking good, my friend. Where’s your potions? We should change that bandage at least.”

“Ran out of them weeks ago. Don’t care, really.”

“Sev, when did you have your last check-up at St. Mungo’s?”

Mulish silence.

“Really, I would rest easier if some qualified healer did look you over. Where’s that fearsome black frock-coat of yours? Why don’t you jump into the shower and I Apparate you to the hospital?” 

Severus mumbled something. Emma thought herself a hindrance to Antonin’s attempt at getting his friend agreeing to medical care and excused herself to the washroom. Downstairs she found none, therfore she braved the creaky staircase. Upstairs the smell of unwashed male and despair was even stronger. The toilet was in the bath and had not been cleaned in ages. She was glad not to be needing it for real and flushed.  
Meanwhile Antonin had managed to get his friend upstairs, they could be heard rummaging in the bedroom.  
Downstairs Emma pried open the back door. Fresh air came in but the better light only highlighted the state of the kitchen and the rest of the house. There was an ancient fridge with half a pint of milk and very little else in it. Standing on the stoop looking in the overgrown little backyard she longed for a cigarette for the first time in ages. Her instincts were fairly screaming at her to take Severus far, far away from here. In all his cranky, ill-mannered glory. Antonin found her just as she had made a decision, rubbing her face with both hands to remind herself that this all was real – Azkaban, Antonin, magic, wands, Severus. The wizard was searching for words. Emma spared him.

“We should take Severus home with us after the check-up. He starves himself if he stays here alone any longer. We can’t help him if this is a depression rather than a steady decline into neglect that left him to weak to cope alone and too proud to ask for help but we can give him nicer surroundings and support in everyday things. I hope the magical hospital has a way of helping him.”

“There won’t be a lot of people prepared to help him. The Death Eaters consider him a traitor, for the so-called Light side he was always too sarcastic, too nasty, too much of a bad-boy posterboy. Sev admitted that he is too weak, physically and magic-wise, to heat the water or to perform cleaning charms. It’s a good thing we called when we did.”

“You can pack things real small with magic, can’t you?”

“Yes, but from the looks of it he hasn’t any clean clothes left.”

“Take them anyway, we have a washing machine. I can take the train back to the farm and wait for you there. There is no other guest room, he would have to room with you at first but I can start preparing my mother’s sewing room for Severus.”

“That would be fine with me. I don’t think I am strong enough yet to Apparate you home and then Sev to London and back. That strange smell coming off him is a sign of potions abuse, I fear. He might be too sick to brew anything complicated but if one over-uses sleeping potions or strenghtening potions that is bad enough. They might keep him overnight to flush the potions out of his system in which case I would sleep at a pub. There is a public telephone at St. Mungo’s. I can call you from there when I know more.”

“You could start the legal procedures for your exoneration while you wait.”

“Not yet. I want to know more about why I was thrown into Azkaban without anyone knowing. It can’t be an oversight, there would have been no body then, it was done with wilful intent.”

They heard the pipes upstairs.

“I will cast some basic wards on Sev’s house before we leave.”

The clothes still hung from his frame but the wizard looked better. Antonin dried his friends hair as it was rather chilly outside, being early January. Sev’s things were bespelled to enlarge again in five hours hence and the men left with a crack from the sitting room. Emma locked up the house the Muggle way and walked back to the station.

Antonin’s call came in the early evening. It was as he had thought. Severus had neglected his check-ups, a young nurse had mentioned that after the battle the hospital had been so over-run with patients that some of them had been discharged earlier in their recovery than usual, the Potions master among them. The healers did not think that he was suicidal, just very much exhausted, a state he had self-medicated with Pepper-Up and Dreamless-Sleep potions. Peace and quiet, good food and fresh air was recommended, after an overnight stay to flush out the potions. They were appropriately chastitised to have neglected a war-hero thus.

After calling Emma Antonin went out to Charing Cross Road. While he was confident that no one would recognise him with his tractor logo baseball cap he felt calmer in the Muggle world. A few doors from the `Leaky´ he came across a bookshop that specialised on antiquarian, art and history books. On a whim he entered and spent half an hour pleasantly browsing. There were a few tables upstairs where he wanted to look over his finds. He had some about weaving and felting, a book about organic farming and one about woodcutting. A young woman was sitting alone at a table with the last free chair. She had quite a stack of books as well.

“May I sit down here?”

She hardly looked up and answered, “I am expecting company in about twenty minutes, if he isn’t late again.”

“I just need a few minutes to decide which ones to take with me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Antonin sat down and thumbed through the book about weaving first. Besides it being in black and white he dismissed it, he felt it too basic for to be of use to Emma. The book about felting however was interesting. He put it aside and just about glanced at the woman across as she absentmindedly scratched a silvery scar high on her breastbone. Antonin froze. Sitting at the same table as he was Hermione Granger. Hitting her with a nearly fatal spell was the one deed from his Death Eater days that still haunted him occasionally.   
When they had been sent to the Department of Mysteries with Lucius Malfoy he was still half crazy from his stay in Azkaban. He had lashed out at everything that moved when not frozen with terror. Sev had assured him again and again that the girl was all right, no lasting consequences safe a silvery scar in form of a star that was easily glamoured in case she wanted to wear a swimsuit. Antonin was torn between slinking away before she recognised him and using the opportunity to apologise. Caution lost. He withdrew his wand and laid it on the book she was reading, handle first. Her head shot up. She hissed, “Put that away! There are Muggles around us!”

“They think I am a weirdo with an interest in wood-working. I gave you my wand to show you that I mean no harm.” 

“I can look after myself, thank you. I am not afraid of you.” He pocketed his wand again.  
The girl must have been in Gryffindor to be that brash or in Slytherin to be so confident, at least in appearance.

“You need not be afraid of me now or anytime later but I have hurt you before. For that I wanted to apologise. I was very unwell then, otherwise I would never have cursed children.”

Chin stuck out she wrinkled her brow, looking at him, “I am sorry, I do not recognise you.” With a nod at his books she continued, “But I am on my guard if you ever throw organic beetroots at me.” Antonin snorted. Gryffindor, definitely. Slytherins had more sense of self-preservation. 

“Have it your way, Miss Granger. Again, I am sorry.” 

With that he tapped his sternum and finally saw comprehension dawn on her features. Downstairs he had to wait at the till. The girl did not follow him downstairs. In front of the shop he nearly bumped into a lanky redhead who stirred a memory in him.   
That night Antonin chose to stay in a Muggle hostel, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, work is insane right now!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story and commenting/leaving kudos! Severus enters the stage ...

Chapter 7

St. Mungo’s took until eleven to discharge Severus. Antonin was presented with a three page letter for his friend’s care, potions lasting for four weeks and a packet of magical bandages. There hadn’t been new wanted-posters, no Aurors on Diagon Alley. Miss Granger must have kept mum about their meeting. While they were waiting for Severus’ wand to be brought to him his friend asked, “Best to cast some glamours over us before we leave. The adoring public can be quite nasty.”

“No need, we will be Apparating right from here.”

“That possible?”

“Yes, the ward ended behind that door.”

A nurse came bustling into the room with the wand and yet another form.

“You will be staying with your friend, Mr. -?”

“McFarlane, Arthur McFarlane. Yes, I will look after him.”

“Good, good. Floo us anytime if there’s a problem. And we would like to see Mr Snape in four weeks time for a check-up.”

“Of course. Good day to you, Nurse Urquhart.”

Antonin drew Severus in a tight hug before the man could question him on his false name and Apparated them into the farm’s courtyard. Severus blinked owlishly and tilted his head at the strange sound coming from Emma’s workroom. 

“Where are we? Why didn’t you bring me to Spinner’s End?”

“I thought the sea-air might do you some good. And I need to know who threw me into Azkaban as soon as possible. Let’s say hello to Emma and then get you settled.”

Stan and Ollie had come out to sniff at the visitor. Antonin petted them while Severus looked at them warily. Together they walked over to the workroom where Emma was working her loom, listening to the radio.

“Oh, hello, welcome to East Flotmanby Hall Farm, Mr Snape. Antonin can show you where everything is, I will join you for lunch as soon as I finish this shawl. Some of your clothes are ready in Antonin’s room, the woollen ones we have to bring to the dry-cleaner.”

“Thank you, Emma, please call me Severus.” She had already started weaving again and only waved a hand at them. By the time they were down in the kitchen again Severus looked tired.

“You’ll have to sleep in my room for now but Emma mentioned a sewing room that could be adapted.”

“What’s it with her and you?”

Antonin told the astonishing story over a cup of tea after he stirred the stew simmering on the stove. 

“And that’s all?”

“It’s enough for now. I guess we should give each other more time. I think she has the odd notion of not taking advantage of me.”

Emma just then entered the kitchen, the dogs hard on her heels.

“It’s not odd, it’s about right. Two weeks ago Antonin was a Dementor-hounded wreck, it’s too early days for us to jump into bed with each other.”

Severus fairly cackled, “So you’ve been thinking about jumping into bed with him!”

“I do not know you well enough to talk to you about my love-life or phantasies thereof.”

The Potions master sobered.

“I will be in the way, I do not like to be a burden.”

“Don’t worry. Yesterday was Epiphany, the Twelfth Day. Our days of leisure are over. There is quite a lot of work to do. I have to replete my stock in time for the Easter markets, if some of the farm- and house-work can be done by you two I will be very grateful. Of course only when you are better again, for now just eat and rest.”

Antonin served the stew and bred and a glass of dark beer – as recommended by St Mungo’s – for Severus.

“St Mungo’s has given me strict instructions for you, Sev. A lot of rest – don’t worry, Emma has a fine library and a TV-set - , plenty of food and fresh air in moderation. You can sit with a blanket in a chair in the courtyard and watch me doing repairs. There’s even an old tractor in the shed. It would be marvellous if we could get it working again! Do you know anything about motors? Apropos library – Emma, I’ve found some books for you in London.”

“Toni, you’re gushing! Where’s the silent Russian I know?”

“Left with the Dementors, I guess. I was rescued and I even will be able to live as a free man, I won’t bungle such a second chance. And Ollivander mentioned that having a wand again after a long time without one can cause some emotional highs. But I do not plan to go back to brooding and I’ll do my best to keep you from it, too.”

“Sounds exhausting. I think I’ll rest for a while.” Severus made his way upstairs slowly, under the worried gaze of his friend. Over a cup of coffee Antonin told Emma, “St Mungo’s was rather worried about his state of mind. He would have withered away in the next few weeks. His magic levels are dangerously low. Thankfully the potions he’d taken were rather common ones and non-addictive. He should be allright with lots of food and sleep but he must not stay alone. Today he was uncommonly pleasant, I guess he is really at the end of his tether. When he is better he will revert to his usual prickly self. Emma, please promise me to tell me if having us both here get’s too much for you.”

“I will, don’t worry. And I am prepared for some shouting-matches with Severus before I decide to turn him out, I have a feeling he likes them when he’s better.”

“He does indeed. Sometimes, if he was bored, he would willfully start a fight with us. Only after everything had calmed down, scratches healed and all, he would sit down with a glass of whiskey and relax.”

“I will train him for sheep-shearing then, that should tire him out. And he can wrangle to his heart’s content.”

“Who does the shearing usually?”

“Well I do, who else?”

“Your sheep a really big!”

“It’s a question of technique, really. You need some muscles as well and I am glad I don’t have more than twenty, but you just need to know how to get them on their backs. I don’t think sheep are very clever but maybe they remember that they’ve been sheared before and that it doesn’t hurt them? You’ll see in May. Personally I find the lambing season more exhausting. The ones I have to help usually lamb at night and sometimes there are triplets or even quarts and then the ewe hasn’t enough milk for all of them. You have to feed them every four hours. I look forward to split the feeding times between us.” The last was said with a rather evil grin. Antonin remembered that they’d eaten quite a lot of lamb during the last two weeks.

“Do you slaughter them yourself?”

“My father taught me but now I bring them to a local butcher because I sell most of them. The sanitary requirements are hard to meet on an ordinary farm. I tried tanning the hides without too much chemicals but it did not work out very well. It is hard to find an affordable tannery. Some years the price for tanned hides is so low that I rather throw them away than send them for tanning.”

“Sev is a Potions master. I think he could help you there.”

“That would be wonderful. Lambskin is very popular with young parents but the big shops import them from New Zealand by the thousands, their skins cost half as much as mine would, even with a margin for me as low as three pounds per skin. And then there’s the dye. The wool mill who processes my wool will close some time next year. I found someone for cleaning and spinning but not for dyeing. My dream would be to dye myself with plants, or at least without too much chemicals. Maybe Severus knows something about this too.”

“As you’ve seen in the wizarding shops most things are still hand-made. We ought at least to find a book about wool-processing and dyeing.”

“For now Severus has to get well again and for this year everything is on track. We can think about this again after lambing and shearing.”  
They had a simple dinner of spaghetti that evening and then settled in front of the TV with their teacups. Severus did not talk a lot but appeared relaxed. He quickly dozed off in Emma’s chair. After the news there was a documentary on about Ginger Baker. Sev had chosen the program and Antonin watched with interest. The film started with an interview with the drummer where he talked about his career and a little bit about his personal life. Clips from his youth followed, most of them in black and white. When one in colour came Antonin startled, “Sev, wake up, man! I remember a man with similar looks, lanky and red hair. I have a feeling he’s somehow connected with my recent stay in Azkaban!”

The Potions master peered closely at the screen and then said, “There is a resemblance to a young wizard I thaught. Percy Weasley. He was Head boy, bent on following the rules to the letter. He went on to work for the ministry, he was under secretary to the minister at one point. During the war he had a falling out with his family but I think they are reconciled now. I would assess him as an opportunist rather than a villain but he was clever, he might have managed a convincing simulacrum of your body.”

“I can’t remember any altercation with someone named Weasley. Why would he do something like this? It feels definitely personal.”

“Prewett! Percy’s mother is a Prewett, the sister of Fabian and Gideon. It is conceivable that he wanted to secure her good-will again by throwing you into Azkaban. As a court scribe he was certainly aware of Yaxley’s bill. Molly Weasley raised her children with stories of the heroic deeds of her brothers, their deaths were what made her and her husband join the order despite their precarious position with a house full of young children. She is fully convinced that you murdered the twins in cold blood.”

“That would be a plausible reason for the boy’s actions.”

“We will know when I am able again to look into your mind. Although I am not sure if anyone would believe you. The Weasleys are the most prominent of the light families, their youngest was at Harry Potter’s side when the Dark Lord was killed.”

“If it is as we think I sort of can understand the boy, I am not sure whether I want him prosecuted yet. I would like it be known though that I did not murder the Prewett twins, it was a duel gone wrong.”

Emma pressed Antonin’s hand. 

That night Stan again alerted her to a nightmare. Antonin had managed to wake on his own while Severus slept on, snoring. Emma made the dogs keep watch on Severus and took Antonin into her own room as it would be difficult to fall asleep again with the noise his room-mate was generating. As she pressed a cup of hot chocolate in his hands she remarked, “I think we should buy a bed for the sewing room as soon as possible. Or get you some earplugs.”

Antonin snorted, “It’s been like this since his fourth year. He’d had his nose broken by his drunk of a father before and when it was broken again by some bullied he started to snore. There is a potion for it, I think it is fairly simple. I could do it if I have the recipe.”

“It is a moot question when he has his own room. The walls here are rather formidable.”

“I think I saw a bedframe in the shed, we might need only a mattress.”

“That was my bed as a girl, it should be fine when cleaned. I’ll have to to some shopping tomorrow anyway, I can buy a mattress and get Severus’ clothes to the drycleaner.”

“Do you think I could learn to drive?”

“Certainly. If you want to drive on the roads rather than from here to the pen you would need a driving licence. You would have to register as a learner driver with me and we would need to do a certain amount of hours. Then there’s a theory test. Do you have Muggle legitimation papers?”

“I think so. It would be in my vault at Gringotts in London. Might need a new picture, though.”

“Shall we try to find some sleep? It’s only half past three.”

“I shall dream of Lamborghinis.”

“Of course. Poor Nelly, cast aside for some younger Italian model.”


End file.
